


The Girl From Legal

by mckayla (steveromanov)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Bucky and Darcy are Good Bros, Coulson is their strict boss who's never around when it counts, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Our friends are not heroes and are instead regular Stark Industries employees, including Natasha, office!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveromanov/pseuds/mckayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve may be a little in love with the new girl in legal.</p><p>Bucky and Darcy won't let him live it down, especially when Darcy befriends said new girl.</p><p>(Or: Steve's fucked.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl From Legal

**Author's Note:**

> I have NO idea where I got this idea from, but I freaking love it, and I hope you all do too :)
> 
> Special thanks to **tsonironi** for really helping me pop this out!  <3

Steve may be a little in love with the new girl in legal.

Keyword: _may_.

He also may have told his best friend this while they were procrastinating at the watercooler on one dull, Monday afternoon.

There is no keyword here. He actually _did_ tell him that. And he actually immediately regretted it, because not only does Bucky’s girlfriend also work in legal, he is also totally, completely smitten with her. Like, I-tell-you-everything-because-we-gossip-like-an-old-couple smitten. Not only that, but ever since Steve’s last girlfriend dumped him a year ago, Darcy has made it her personal duty to find him another—against every exhausted _I don’t want a girlfriend_ and _I’m fine_ and _Seriously, Darce, cut it out_ that he gave her in protest.

Darcy is as persistent as she is genuine, though, so.

Steve’s fucked.

Because what Darcy has in persistence and genuineness, she lacks in subtlety. And besides Bucky, who really shouldn’t be counted because he’s her _boyfriend_ , Steve is Darcy’s only male friend. Hence, the only guy she could be trying to set the new girl up with when (there’s no if, because Darcy _definitely_ will try, and fail, and has Steve mentioned that he’s fucked?) she approaches her. And the thing is, the new girl’s smart. She’ll figure out that it’s Steve right off the bat.

Her name’s Natasha, he learned only because Darcy had told him.

He first ran into her the Friday before his regrettable discussion with Bucky at the watercooler, and by “ran”, he means literally. He was in a rush to get to his twelve o’clock meeting and was flipping through the many files he was carrying in search for the right one when _bam—_ he smacked right into what was unmistakably a body, coffee flying up in the air and raining down all over his files, dress shirt, and, embarrassingly enough, the crotch of his slacks.

He almost lost his patience and snapped. _Almost_.

But then he looked up and saw her. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, with hair the color of juicy, ripe strawberries. He couldn’t even be mad that, somehow, he had absorbed every drop of coffee that had been split while she, in her form-fitting black dress and heels, looked as if she had just stepped out of a goddamn magazine, not an ounce of coffee on her. He wasn’t even mad at the fact that he’d have to completely miss his meeting because he smelt like brew and hazelnut creamer. In hindsight, he’s only mad at the fact that instead of apologizing he stood there like a fucking idiot, staring at the slightly amused woman in front of him, his mouth hanging open to let all the flies in.

And then he’d bolted without uttering a word, turning around and moving as fast as he could down the hall without actually running.

Yeah, he’s pretty mad about that too.

But mostly he’s mad at Bucky and Darcy—and the fact that he actually isn’t as mad at them as he probably should be.

God, he’s such a good friend. And he really should get some new ones.

“You two are nauseating.”

Bucky and Darcy stop playing a round of cringingly enthusiastic tonsil hockey to look at Steve, who has since pushed his turkey club to the side, his appetite all but flung over the terrace they’re supposed to be eating lunch on. However, for the past ten minutes all Steve’s friends have been eating are each other, and he’s no longer hungry. Darcy narrows her eyes at him from her place in Bucky’s lap, leaning over and snatching a French fry from his plate.

“By all means,” he says, gesturing his hand at the food.

“You’re just bitter,” Bucky teases. Steve supposes that’s pretty true, but he refrains from giving his friend the satisfaction once Darcy feeds him a fry. “And still mad about what you saw in the copy room last week.”

“Yes, in fact, because not only was it a traumatizing experience, but I’m also behind on paperwork because I’m refusing to step foot in that room before being sure that the janitors have properly done their job a few four or five times.” Steve grimaces at the memory of walking in on Bucky and Darcy in a rather compromising position in the copy room; Darcy practically bent over the machine as Bucky dry-humped her from behind with the fervor of a kid riding a pony for the first time. “I’ve known you for more than twenty years, Buck, and I swear to god I will terminate this friendship if I ever walk in on something like that again.”

Darcy makes a face of her own, tossing one of the fries in his direction. It smacks limply against his tie and falls in his lap. “You need to get laid, Steven,” she tells him.

“And I know just the gal,” Bucky grins conspiratorially. Darcy wiggles her eyebrows in the same manner, and Steve suddenly has the urge to follow his appetite’s lead and fling himself over the terrace, too.

“No, guys. No.”

“C’mon, man, she’s hot,” Bucky says.

Darcy, being Darcy, isn’t even mad at her boyfriend’s words. Rather, she nods ardently. “ _Totally_. Like, if I wasn’t in a monogamous relationship, I’d bang her. If she’s into girls, that is, which, sadly, I don’t think she is. So, Steven, points to you.”

“I wasn’t aware we were competing?”

“We aren’t,” Darcy says. “But, oh, if we were? I’d win.”

“Right. I don’t doubt it.”

Darcy continues, “But since we’re not, I’m making it my civic duty to help _you_ win. Because, as previously stated, Natasha is one outrageously beautiful woman, and you aren’t the only suit-and-tie combo that’s pining after her.”

“Which is exactly why I’d rather just regret that I _ever_ mentioned anything to the two of you and carry on with my life,” Steve says. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if Tony Stark himself was pining after her, and if that happens, what little chance I even had with her in the first place is gone out of the window. She’s totally out of my league, guys.”

Bucky lifts his eyebrows, busying himself with his soda, while Darcy just stares at Steve with the most impassive look on her face that it’s almost scary, because Darcy is never _impassive_. Then she tips her head back and laughs loudly, which is even scarier.

“Steve, you really have no idea, do you?”

“What?”

“You, my dear, are fucking _hot_. Occasional awkwardness aside, I mean. Bucky, tell him. Tell him he’s hot.”

“Darce—” Bucky begins.

“If Bucky was anything other than straight, I guarantee he’d do you. No, he doesn’t even have to be straight. Steven, you are a little Irish Adonis.”

Steve makes a face, lifting his hands. “I retract my previous statement. _This_ might just be what makes me terminate our friendship for good.”

“And,” Darcy continues, either not hearing his statement or just electing to ignore it, “Natasha would be absolutely stupid to not see that. And let’s be honest, we all know she’s not stupid. The girl could give Stark a run for his money, and he has a fucking lot of it.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

Yes, Natasha’s smart.

No, he wasn’t aware of his own attractiveness.

Sometimes he forgets that he was even blessed by a healthy metabolism and growth spurt at such a late age—it must be because he’s still friends with Bucky, who will affectionately tease him for the rest of his life, despite the fact that Steve now has a good fifty pounds of muscle on him.

Darcy takes his silence as a cue to go on, though she would have gone on anyways had it been otherwise. “Besides, Natasha can be pretty terrifying when she wants to be. You should count the fact that she didn’t rip you to shreds when you had that coffee fiasco a win in your favor.”

Steve remains silent for a moment, then suddenly buries his face in his hands with a quiet groan. He can practically feel Bucky and Darcy’s smirks melting into the top of his head, the asses they are. They’re sickeningly perfect for one another.

Steve stands up from the table, the fry Darcy had earlier thrown at him falling out of his lap and onto the floor. He frowns at the self-satisfied looks on their faces.

“You guys suck. And you’re paying for lunch. I have to get back to work.”

* * *

It’s later that day that, lest he had forgotten, Steve once again realizes that he is fucked.

Or, rather, he is reminded.

It comes in the form of a cursed manila envelope, which could have been considered normal, since it was the among the stack of mail the _delivery_ boy hands to him, except—

This particular envelope does not have his name printed on the front. Instead, it says: Natasha Romanoff.

It is here that Steve concludes that not only is he fucked, but the world is also working against him.

Before he can let out a string of curses and kick over his paper shredder, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose with fingers that are not currently gripping mail-that’s-not-his like a vice, stands up from his desk, and discreetly sticks his head out into the hall. He knows he heard Bucky and Darcy step off the elevator five minutes ago (an hour longer than he’d left them at the restaurant, so he doesn’t even want to think of _those_ implications), and that means that Darcy is probably still on their floor, most likely sitting on Bucky’s lap as he pretends to do work on his computer. The thing is, though, is that he can’t hear any sounds of their gross kissing. Or Darcy’s loud voice and, contrastingly, Bucky’s much quieter one, telling her that she needs to shush or Coulson will come to kick her out. So, against his better judgment, Steve slinks out of his office and heads towards Bucky’s.

He braces himself for another copy room situation, but oddly enough, Bucky’s office is bare of the both of them. Steve’s hand grows sweaty where it is still holding Natasha’s mail, because it’s not like he can just _discard_ it. Isn’t that against the law or something? Or was that just opening mail that’s not yours?

Steve clears his throat. _Focus, Rogers. It’s just mail, it’s just a misunderstanding_. Somehow, Natasha’s mail had gotten mixed up with his. All he has to do now is give it back to her, considering Darcy is nowhere to be found to do it for him. He can do this.

No, he can’t.

He’s nervous as hell.

He’s in _love_ with a girl whom he has barely spoken to—no, scratch that, _hasn’t_ spoken to, because he’s an idiot and ran away from her after she spilt her lukewarm coffee all over him. Which, to make matters even worse, was basically his fault. And now—

Someone taps him on the shoulder.

He whirls around, thinking it’s Bucky or Darcy coming to harass him.

He nearly chokes when he realizes that he’s wrong, but results to speechless stuttering instead.

“Uh, you’re Rogers, right? Steve Rogers?” Natasha asks after a moment, her expression largely inexpressive save for the brief, amused quirk of her lips before she’d started speaking.

By some miracle, Steve manages a nod.

“I think your mail got mixed up with mine,” Natasha continues, being kind and ignoring how Steve’s pretty much at a loss for words. Instead she lifts up an envelope that looks pretty identical to the one he had (not really) planned on giving back to her. “And I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that that’s mine…?”

She points at the crumpled envelope in Steve’s fist, her eyebrow raised, and he blushes furiously and swallows, hastily trying to smooth the thing out against his thigh.

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Shit, sorry…” He mutters, suddenly unable to hold eye contact with her. He also curses himself, because the envelope is rumpled and damp from the heat of his palm and how utterly _disgusting_ is that? “I’m really sorry.”

Natasha just regards him, her eyebrow still raised. It’s fucking perfect. _She’s_ fucking perfect.

Her silence just makes him talk more. “And, uh, about the coffee. Sorry about that, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha says after a tantalizingly long moment, gingerly taking her envelope from his hand and replacing it with his own. Then she smiles (and Steve nearly faints, because _holy shit_ ), a teasing lilt of her lips, and adds, “I didn’t even have to take my outfit to the drycleaner’s.”

She’s already halfway down the hall before Steve realizes that he should probably laugh. It’s just—she’s _really_ great. And if he _might’ve_ been in love with her before, he definitely is now.

He doesn’t notice the small smirk Natasha casts him over her shoulder, as well as Bucky and Darcy, who’d been hiding out in one of the vacant offices, giving each other a quiet, if not victorious, high-five.

* * *

Steve doesn’t tell Bucky and Darcy about the mail incident, deciding that they don’t need any more ammunition to humiliate him with. As already displayed, he’s got self-humiliation pretty down pat; he doesn’t need any more help in that department. However, for the most part, Natasha and Darcy are friends—meaning, unfortunately, that there’s a pretty good chance that Natasha may have mentioned something to Darcy about the piece of sweaty, wrinkled mail and equally sweaty (not wrinkled, no, because Stark Industries does not tolerate that, according to Coulson) man who gave it to her.

So, with every drop of dignity in his body, Steve elects to ignore his friends for the next two days, at least until the attention is drawn away from him.

That dignity is quickly wiped away, however; faster than he can say the words: _I’m fucked_.

He’s in the building’s gym (because it’s _Stark Industries_ , of course there’s an employee gym) when it happens, working on his third mile on one of the state-of-the-art treadmills, just minding his own business. _Just minding his own business_. That’s when he notices someone entering, which isn’t odd because people come and go all the time, only—

Only he doesn’t expect that person to be _Natasha_.

Steve immediately fixes his gaze forward, anywhere but at her, though only after noting what she’s dressed in: a tight, heather gray tank top and pair of just-as-tight leggings, her feet stuffed in a pair of Nike’s that match her hair—her hair, which is pulled back in a low, thick French braid, to top it all off. Not that he’s looking, but Steve can see the creamy expanse of her neck, especially as she cranes it in a warm-up stretch that has his mouth watering something fierce. It’s only then that he realizes that he’s full-on sprinting now, not just the paced half-jog he normally works out in. He makes a conscious effort to slow down, again averting his eyes. Still, out of his peripheral, he can see Natasha moving, pulling something out of her bag.

They’re training gloves.

Steve nearly chokes when she moves towards the weight bags, her shoulder blades flexing as she rolls the joints.

And, yeah, Steve knew she was practically perfect already, but watching her go to town on the weight bags is, well, something fucking else. He’s left dumbstruck at the sight of how quick she moves; at how her fists strike lightning-fast against the surface of the weight bag; at how tendrils of deep red hair begin to fall out of her braid and stick to her neck, shiny with sweat; at how her breaths, obviously timed with her punches, is coming out through parted, plump lips.

This is where it _really_ happens, his next act of self-humiliation and total loss of dignity.

Because he had been so distracted with the sight that is Natasha, Steve starts running faster again, then trips over his own two feet, and then falls head-first against the treadmill’s console. He doesn’t even have the strength in him to _try_ and break his fall, not that he really has any chance to, and simply lets out a defeated groan as his face slides over the console’s buttons, making the treadmill speed up and dispose his limp body on to the cool gym floor with a thud.

He instantly wishes—no, _hopes_ —that the floor will open up and swallow him whole.

It doesn’t.

“Oh, my god! Are you okay?”

It’s Natasha, he notices, who runs over to him, kneeling at his side. He doesn’t know whether to thank the gods for putting her so close in his vicinity or curse them for making him embarrassing himself in front of her. Again.

All Steve can do in response, though, is groan.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” she says on a breathy laugh, and _god, she sounds just as lovely as she looks._ “Can you manage anything besides a moan? How’s your head?”

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His head _is_ throbbing, but he thinks it’s nothing a few Advil and a good night’s rest won’t mend. He’ll be sore in the morning, but hell. He just fucking ate it on a treadmill.

“I’m good, just,” he says after a moment, pausing again. The burning he can feel in his face has nothing to do with his workout. “I can assure you, I’m normally not this embarrassing.” _Just when I’m around you_.

Natasha laughs again, tipping her head back so he can see her throat once more. He swallows thickly, suddenly realizing that he’s still on the floor and that Natasha’s sitting over him. He doesn’t look anywhere beneath her neckline. “You could’ve fooled me,” she says once she sobers. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Positive.”

“And your pride? How’s that?”

“Completely in shambles.”

“Well,” she begins as she stands, extending a hand to help Steve up. He takes it, not even bothering to dust off his clothes once he’s standing again. “I’d get that checked out, if I were you.”

Steve smiles shyly.

“And probably your head, too, just in case.”

“Noted,” he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck out of a nervous tick as much as comfort. “Thanks.”

Natasha looks him over one last time before moving back over to the weight bags, and Steve takes advantage of the fact that she has her back to him to sneak out the door, wincing in pain with each step.

Yeah, he’s definitely going to feel it in the morning.

* * *

Because their offices are practically next to each other, and Darcy is almost always in Bucky’s office, Steve doesn’t succeed in ignoring them for long.

He also can’t successfully hide the bump on his head when he comes in to work the day after the incident in the gym, so when Bucky takes a good look at him and starts laughing, Steve’s already prepared to tell him to shove it.

So he does.

“What the fuck _happened_?” Bucky gasps after, bent over with laughter. Darcy’s perched on the edge of his desk, giggling into her hand.

Why is Coulson _never_ around?

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “None of your business.”

Then, because he has no dignity left after what happened yesterday, he stomps into his office with all the might of a man-child.

* * *

“Steve’s gonna kill us when he finds out that we’re the ones who sent Natasha to the gym in the first place, you know,” Bucky says to her once Steve’s gone. “And then kill us again when he realizes that Natasha had been in on our little plan since the very beginning.”

Darcy giggles, then shrugs. “I think he _literally_ fell head-over-heels in love based on that bump on his head. He’ll thank us later, just you watch.”

* * *

There are fifteen minutes left until Steve can leave the office for the night when there’s a knock on his door. He looks up from his computer to see Bucky standing there, already prepared to go. Hell, knowing him, he probably packed up a half hour ago, if not longer.

Steve tries his best to look what Darcy would call “done”. Because he is. His head’s been throbbing all day and he’s not in the mood for any teasing, frankly. He just wants to get the hell out of here.

“Look, I know you’re pissed, but I come in peace,” Bucky starts, smiling hesitantly. Steve, despite his best efforts, is a _great_ fucking friend and doesn’t have the heart in him to tell him to leave.

“Shoot,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“Darcy and I are going out for drinks. You’re coming with.”

Steve makes a face. “I’m really not in the mood to play third wheel tonight, Buck.”

“We’ll invite Wilson then,” Bucky shrugs, then nudges Steve’s knee with his foot. “C’mon. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to hold Darcy back if you say no. You know she gets all trigger-happy with her taser.”

“Why’d you even buy her that thing, anyways?”

Bucky chuckles. “Weapons are the way to Darcy’s heart. And Hot Pockets and live music.”

Steve thinks it over for a moment, having no doubt in his mind that, if it did come down to it, Darcy _would_ actually tase him. For a moment, Steve thinks he’s okay taking the risk. Then he decides that a nice, cold beer actually doesn’t seem all that unappealing, so he sighs, runs his hands down his face, then gives Bucky a look.

“Fine. Just let me finish this up real quick.”

Bucky practically beams. “Take your time, we’re just going to the bar down the street. You can meet us there.”

Before Steve can protest (not that he was, but _still_ ), Bucky’s up and gone, so Steve just sighs, finishing his reports while also counting down the clock until it's five on the dot. He doesn’t doubt that Bucky and Darcy, despite getting off at the same time as him, are already long gone, so he grabs his suit jacket and drapes it over his arm as he takes the elevator down to the lobby, nodding farewell to the ladies at the reception desk on his way out. The streets are busy with after-work traffic, both vehicular and on-foot, so it takes Steve slightly longer than normal to get down to the bar, which isn’t as packed as he expects for a Friday night. As soon as he steps inside he immediately scans the vicinity for any signs of his friends (really, all he has to do is look for the one couple that can’t keep their goddamn hands off of one another), but he can’t find either.

Steve frowns. Bucky and Darcy had a good twenty-minute head start, so where could they possibly—

That’s when Steve notices Natasha at the bar, sitting so that she’s facing the door, a smirk on her lips.

She’s waiting for him.

That smirk is _for_ him.

Not only is Steve fucked, but so are Bucky and Darcy, once he gets his hands on them.

Because, he now realizes, they planned this. Everything. From the start.

As he walks over to Natasha, Steve decides that Bucky and Darcy aren’t fucked. _He_ still is, but in a good way. He also decides that he doesn’t need new friends after all, because the ones he already has are pretty damn great. He’s never going to tell them that, but he doesn’t need to.

They know it, the vain bastards.

“Hey,” Natasha greets once Steve is standing next to her.

“Hi,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Were you in on it?”

Natasha actually blushes, lifting a shoulder in a shrug as she sips her drink through a skinny straw. “Maybe,” she says. She pauses. “Are you mad?”

Steve manages to shake his head. He’s grinning like an idiot, and he knows it. “No.”

“Good. So, are you going to sit? Or are you going to spend our entire first date standing?” She leans back and regards him amusedly. “However, I don’t know what’s safer for you—standing or sitting.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans, then laughs anyways as he sits beside her. Clint, the bartender, slides him a beer. “So, Bucky and Darcy. They make better matchmakers than I would have ever guessed.”

“I wouldn’t give them all the credit. I’m pretty sure that if Darcy hadn’t brought me in on their little plan, things wouldn’t have worked out in our favor.”

“ _Our_ favor?”

“Steve, do you really think I’m sitting here for nothing?” He blushes shyly, so she leans in close, smelling like vodka cranberries. It’s pretty intoxicating in itself. “You had me the day you soaked up my coffee like a sponge,” she murmurs, smiling and staring at his lips.

By some miracle, when Steve leans in to kiss her, he doesn’t make a complete embarrassment out of himself.

* * *

“Our plan went _so_ smoothly, I think we deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

Bucky lets Darcy drag him down the hall as he says, “Is this what I’m thinking it is?”

“If you’re thinking mind-blowing copy room sex, then yes. Yes, it is.”

Bucky can’t help but chuckle. He fucking loves this girl.

The both of them check the area once they reach the copy room’s door, making sure that no one’s—specifically Coulson, though he never is—around. Once they’re sure the area’s clear, Darcy pushes open the door and begins to step inside, but halts immediately in her tracks. Bucky walks into her, nearly knocking her over.

“Darce, what the—?” He begins, but stops once he looks up and sees exactly what had Darcy stopping in the first place.

It’s Steve and Natasha, the latter propped up on the copy machine, her blouse unbuttoned and skirt hitched up around her thighs. She has her hands clutched around the hem of Steve’s shirt, paused at his biceps as if she had been in the middle of pushing it off his arms before she’d been interrupted. Steve’s in front of her, head craned to gape in embarrassment at the couple over his shoulder, his hair already a mess and his hands wrapped around Natasha’s waist. The two couples stare at one another for a moment, not uttering a word, movements completely still.

Then Darcy lifts her phone and snaps a picture.

“Get the hell out!” Steve hisses, slacks falling down as he shoos the other couple out of the room.

Bucky barely manages to say, “Hypocrite!” before the door is slammed in their faces.

“Now that just deserves a _ginormous_ reward. Have we christened Coulson’s office yet?”

Bucky grins. He  _really_ loves this girl.

**Author's Note:**

> The original title for this fic was "Out of His League-al" but then I realized how much of an embarrassment I am.
> 
> Also, my love for Natasha in Iron Man 2 may or may not have spurned this idea on, because Natalie Rushman means a lot to me okay?


End file.
